Darker Than Night
by EtherealOne21
Summary: Sherlock has never felt so much pain in his life- nothing compares to the horror he feels when he realizes Jim Moriarty has taken the one thing that matters to him- John Watson. Sherlock would go to hell and back for John, and he just might have to to get him back. This is my first ever post so please R&R! If enough are interested I will keep writing!
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes was bounding up the stairs, a new case in his hands. "John! This is a good one, John!"

He burst through the door, devious smile bright on his face as he turned the corner, looking for John. His long coat flowed around him as he threw the case file onto the table. He clapped his hands together in utter joy, his leather gloved hands making a distinct slap in the unusual silence. "Ohh, John! You must come see this one!" He pulled off his scarf, looking around still. 'John didn't tell me he was going out…', Sherlock thought to himself. Even if he was out John would usually text him where he was going. John knew Sherlock would just track him down otherwise. John never seemed to like that so he found it easier to let Sherlock know ahead of time where he would be.

Suddenly, something seemed out of place. Sherlock looked around, concern beginning to gnaw at him. Something was wrong. Sherlock inspected the flat- nothing appeared obviously different. The furniture was all intact, not even a slight adjustment to suggest any kind of sudden movement or fight. 'No…John's just out somewhere. That must be it…' Sherlock reminded himself. His eyes moved and darted across the room, scanning for any clue that would alleviate his rising concern. Sherlock glanced in John's room- all appeared normal. The bed was made, military style of course, with everything in its place. It was maddening how neat John was. No wonder Sherlock drove him crazy when he threw his experiments around the flat.

Moving back to where he was when he walked in, Sherlock began to really worry. 'Worry…what a strange feeling…', and there was that word- '_feeling_' again. Sherlock had never let himself become vulnerable to such petty things, but he found it increasingly difficult to withstand them with John around. John was so…human? Normal? Sherlock didn't know what to call it. All he knew was John…his John…was gone, and something was seriously wrong. Sherlock finally decided to go to Lestrade for help. Perhaps they went out to the pub together?

Sherlock was putting his scarf back on when he happened to look down. Barely noticeable to anyone but Sherlock, was the smallest drop of blood on the floor. He dropped down, whipping out his magnifying glass at record speed. His heart began to beat just a little harder. He looked around, searching for more. As his eyes wandered, he noticed a faint but distinct trail leading back out the door. Sherlock jumped to his feet and began to follow it. It was faint enough for Sherlock to see but too small for Mrs. Hudson to have noticed it.

Sherlock realized in horror that this was placed here for him to find.

He continued down the stairs and around the corner to the door of Mrs. Hudson's flat. Next door to hers was the downstairs flat- the one she could never find tenants for, and the one where Jim Moriarty had placed his first clue for Sherlock to play his game. It was also where the blood drops were leading to. Sherlock's heart continued to pound. "Mrs. Hudson, your keys!" Sherlock yelled in his baritone voice, echoing in the darkened hallway.

No answer. Sherlock grew impatient, and out of his desperation he broke Mrs. Hudson's window and opened the door. She wasn't home, maybe still out with that married man from Speedy's? Sherlock's knuckles were bleeding, but he didn't care. He found her keys in her box on the entryway table and almost stumbled back through the door. He was beginning to get frantic- not a feeling Sherlock was familiar with, and it frightened him. Finally with his shaking fingers he was able to get the lock open and he opened the door, turning on the light to illuminate his path.

He carefully went down the stairs, examining everything in sight while following the increasingly obvious drops of blood. As he came to the foot of the stairs, the drops became more of a trail, the red clearly showing on the basement floor. As Sherlock rounded a corner, his heart finally stopped pounding. It was too horrified to beat at all.

Sherlock's chest constricted in pain as he struggled to breathe. Red letters on the wall, clearly written in dripping blood, brought him to his knees, his whole body shaking in shock.

_I have what is yours…if you care to see him in one piece again, you will follow my instructions. _

Sherlock's face betrayed him, his eyes screaming what he couldn't express. His body trembled, and all that he could manage to get out was a tortured whisper…

"John…"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N- Thank you so very much for your swift and kind reviews! I didn't honestly think anyone would notice this post as it was a bit rushed and not as polished as I would have preferred. I was very anxious to get the idea out there to see if anyone was interested. I hope my chapters will continue to improve as I go along (as I have not really written in many years). Thank you for your support and please continue to send me feedback! I want to know what you are thinking!

Sherlock didn't know how much time had passed since he had first read the writing on the wall. 5 seconds? 5 minutes? 5 hours? His mind was doing something it had never done before- it was stalling, almost frozen… frozen with a fear that he had never known. Not even when he doubted himself in seeing the hound at the Hollow was he this afraid. That was a fear his mind could identify- his doubt was what scared him. But this…this was something entirely different. He had never cared for anyone, never felt attachment towards any person for any reason. 'Caring was not an advantage,' his brother Mycroft would remind him. 'All lives end…all hearts are…'

"No," Sherlock vocalized into the dark, interrupting his brother's remembered statement. All lives may end, but not like this. This was John, not just another person on the street Sherlock happened to walk by. Sherlock had never felt attachment before, and now he understood why.

It hurt…it hurt to care.

Sherlock's breath was visible in the cold basement, coming in short gasps rather than breaths. He couldn't seem to calm his shaking hands. Focusing on his breathing, Sherlock managed to finally rise to his feet, his composure slipping back into place. He had never had such an overwhelming burst of emotion like that, and he hoped it wouldn't happen again. It was very inconvenient. He had already lost precious minutes he could have been using searching for John.

Sherlock straightened himself up and began to inspect the basement. No signs of a forced entry into the actual flat, meaning the intruder had probably used Mrs. Hudson's key and returned it to its place before she could notice. When could this have happened? Sherlock began to try to think back to when he last saw John. Entering into his mind palace, Sherlock began to remember…

It was early this morning…John had gotten up in his usual routine of making tea and reading the paper in his chair as Sherlock continued a rather obnoxious and dangerous experiment. There were sparks flying from Sherlock using a blowtorch on something and John was beginning to worry he'd set the whole flat on fire.

"Sherlock! What are you doing?" John called to him from his chair, his annoyance clearly written all over his face.

"It's an experiment, John! I explained it to you yesterday!" Sherlock called back, just as annoyed.

"I wasn't home yesterday, Sherlock. When are you going to start realizing that I am not by your side 24/7?" John said, exasperated.

Sherlock faltered for a moment, and he couldn't identify why his chest ached suddenly at the statement John had just made. He shook it off and continued with his work.

John raised his paper back up and began to read again, just as Sherlock's mobile began to ring.

"Sherlock, your mobile is ringing," John said into his paper. Sherlock continued to work, his blowtorch overpowering any other noise.

"Sherlock, your phone!" Still nothing. Finally, John got up, grabbed Sherlock's phone and marched over in his usual stiff gait. John slammed it on the table Sherlock was working on. Sherlock finally looked up and acknowledged John's presence.

John pointed down, "Your phone… is ringing," he said with irritation.

"Ah, thank you, John," Sherlock turned off the blowtorch and put it down right as the phone beeped he had a missed call. John growled in frustration and marched back to his seat, grabbing his paper and sitting back down.

"Honestly, John, I don't know why you're so annoyed. It's not like you missed the call," Sherlock said as he redialed the missed number. John rolled his eyes and returned to the news of the day.

A couple rings later, Detective Inspector Lestrade's familiar voice picked up the call.

"Sherlock, I'm surprised you called back! You would have usually texted. Everything ok? Or are you especially bored today?"

It was Sherlock's turn to roll his eyes this time. Honestly, did they all think if he didn't have a case he sat and stared at the wall all day? Oh…right…

"Do you have something of interest for me, Lestrade?

"Actually yes, Sherlock, I do. A very interesting case, I think. Can you come? I'll explain it to you here."

"On my way," and with that Sherlock hung up, already halfway to grabbing his coat and scarf.

"Come along, John! Lestrade has a case for us! He says it's interesting but I'm sure to me it will be perfectly dull. Ah, well, it will be something interesting for you at least! Come on!"

Sherlock was beaming; there was something new to do! His experiments could wait a while.

Sherlock was halfway down the stairs before realizing John was not behind him as usual. He turned, confused, and jumped back up the stairs. John was still seated, reading his paper as if nothing had been said to him.

"John? Come on, we have a case!" Sherlock was beginning to get antsy; John knew how manic he could get when he had something new to work on. John, however, continued to ignore him.

After a moment's pause, John finally spoke.

"You go get your case, Sherlock, I'll be here cleaning up after you and your crazy experiments. You've already met your quota of insulting my intelligence today, so I'm not sure what good I would do being next to you with Lestrade, since that's all I seem to be good for when you bring me around. So go- have fun with your murder or theft or whatever the hell it is today. I would like some peace and quiet, ok? I will see you when you get back."

Sherlock would be lying if he didn't say he was surprised by John's sudden cold shoulder. He had never refused a case before. Sherlock looked around himself, wondering what to do next.

"I, uhh…hmph….will see you when I return then," Sherlock said with a slightly defeated voice.

"Fine," John responded without emotion, straightening his paper.

Sherlock turned on his heel and marched down the stairs. He didn't have the same excitement in his step as he did before. Sherlock shut the front door and called for a taxi as John looked down and watched him leave. Sherlock did not look back as he drove off to meet Lestrade…

Sherlock came back to the present from his mind palace and began to think. He had only been gone about an hour this morning, so someone must have been watching him to know when to come in and capture John. There were no signs of any fight, so did John go willingly? Was he threatened? Sherlock began to observe around the basement again.

The blood on the wall, was this…John's blood? He had no way to confirm it without the lab but his instinct told him it was. The captors would not have killed John, at least not yet- he was their biggest bargaining chip. At least Sherlock could gain some comfort from that- John had to be alive. He could be critically wounded, in pain…

Sherlock and those 'feelings' began to come back and he had to shake them away. If he let them overcome his head he would never be able to think clearly. He had already allowed himself one breakdown today- that was enough.

Sherlock began to think…could this be Moriarty again? Why would he capture John? What does he want from Sherlock? Was Moriarty bored again and stepping up his game? Sherlock was sure Moriarty knew he never cared for the people in his first game- they were strangers, unknowns to him- Sherlock cared about the game and solving the puzzle, nothing more. This time was different. Moriarty said he would burn his heart out, and here he was to make good on that promise.

'_Follow my instructions…' _he wrote. There were no signs of anything left for Sherlock to find, not a phone like from the first time. Sherlock wondered how the instructions would come to him and when. Time was being wasted.

Sherlock's coat pocket trilled as a new message arrived on his phone. Sherlock reached in and grabbed it, sliding the phone's screen to unlock it. A simple message displayed on the screen.

'_Hurt your brother in a way I see fit and I will send you your first clue to find John.'_

Sherlock didn't have to think hard about this challenge. Mycroft Holmes was a strong man, but Sherlock knew what he could do to bring him down. And if Sherlock could bring down the British government, he knew he could do anything necessary to get John back. Sherlock ran up the stairs, his plan already forming in his head.


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft Holmes was sitting in his office at home when his mobile buzzed with a message from 'Anthea', his assistant. Her name would change depending on who she was talking to, though she seemed to like 'Anthea'.

'_Your brother has forced his way in. I think it may be urgent.'_

Mycroft sighed…Sherlock always had something "urgent".

'_Thank you, I will take care of it,' _he texted back, right as Sherlock burst through the door.

"Ah, you could knock you know," Mycroft admonished as he set down his phone. He folded his hands under his chin, a Holmes' brother's trait, and looked at Sherlock, observing every detail of his "urgent" state.

Sherlock appeared completely normal- to most people at least. His face showed no sign of stress, his body was steady and composed, and his clothes and general appearance were well put together. But Mycroft was not most people. Mycroft knew his brother, as much as Sherlock did not want to admit it. Mycroft could sense rather than clearly see that something was wrong. Something in Sherlock's expressive eyes told him something was off. The only thing that Mycroft could deduce that could get to Sherlock this way was John. He knew Sherlock loved him- not in a romantic way, but it was indeed love. Sherlock couldn't recognize it, not yet, but Mycroft knew. Mycroft may say that caring is not an advantage, but he didn't deny its existence.

Sherlock addressed him clearly, his voice only slightly faltering. He tried to cover it with a façade of confidence, but Mycroft knew better.

"Mycroft, you know I do not like to visit you," Sherlock began.

"Hello to you too, little brother. I am fine, thank you for asking," Mycroft said dryly. Sherlock glared at him but continued.

"Mycroft, I need to ask a favor…"

"Oh dear, what have you done, Sherlock? You never ask me…" Mycroft began but Sherlock interrupted.

"I believe Moriarty may have set some surveillance near or in my flat, and I know you know everything that goes on with or around me and I thought you may be able to confirm this," Sherlock said with only the slightest bit of contempt in his voice. This did not go unnoticed by Mycroft.

"And why would Moriarty want to watch you?" Mycroft asked, though he knew the reasons why. Just a few weeks ago he had been in the same room with the criminal, watching him withstand all interrogation until Mycroft himself walked in. Mycroft told things to Moriarty that he was beginning to regret…but Sherlock didn't need to know that right now. Mycroft kept his face emotionless as he waited for Sherlock's response.

"You know of the events at the pool, Mycroft. You know he would come back at some point- I am asking for your assistance."

Mycroft considered what would drive Sherlock to ask for his help in this way. It must have something to do with John, but he didn't think he'd find out by asking directly. Perhaps he should wait it out a bit and get the footage for Sherlock, and see what was revealed from there.

"Ok, Sherlock. I will get the footage for you. Only if you plan on explaining yourself better when I do, understood? I will not be left out of the loop this time," Mycroft stated with finality.

"Understood," replied Sherlock. He looked unwavering into Mycroft's eyes before he turned and left the office, going into a separate room where such records were kept.

Sherlock estimated he had about 3 minutes to complete what he had to do.

Mycroft's computer was stationed on his desk, the most updated computer available, of course. Sherlock had a portable storage drive he swiftly plugged into the USB drive. Accessing the main screen, Sherlock began to try to search through Mycroft's files, all of which were individually password protected.

Sherlock began to select files from the most encrypted folders he could find. He individually worked out each password, knowing that he only had so much time before Mycroft would return. Mycroft thought his passwords were so difficult, Sherlock thought to himself. When he successfully opened 5 of the most important files he could get to, he downloaded them to the drive and waited, drumming his fingers in impatience as the progress bar continued to rise.

70%...75%...82%...

"Come on, come on!" Sherlock whispered to the screen.

Finally, 100% flashed on the screen, and Sherlock ripped the drive from the computer, getting up while doing so. Wrapping his coat around him, he looked out the door and saw no one in the hallway. Making his way back to the entrance of the house, he turned one last time to make sure no one had followed him. Leaving the front door, Sherlock began to run. He ran to the main road, breathless as he called for a cab. Once inside and safely away from Mycroft, Sherlock slowly opened his hand and looked at the drive that would help bring John home to him. Nothing mattered more to him than that. And as Mycroft walked back into his office with the footage Sherlock so desperately wanted, he let the disc fall to the floor as he realized what had happened. Checking the computer screen only confirmed what he already knew. Sherlock had stolen his most confidential files, the files only Mycroft had access or control over, and they were probably on their way to Moriarty right now.

Sherlock was going to disgrace Mycroft by labeling him a traitor and perhaps even a spy by revealing those documents to the most dangerous man Mycroft had ever known. Mycroft's reputation was going to be used for ransom.

Mycroft sat down, slumping in his chair. His hands came to his face in defeat, as a shaky sigh escaped him. He knew Sherlock would do anything for John, but this? This was going to be a nightmare.

Sherlock finally reached 221B and threw money at the cabbie, running to the front door. Sprinting upstairs, he flung the door open and grabbed his laptop. Grabbing his phone from his coat pocket, he texted the number that had sent him the first message.

'_I have something you will want-SH'_

Almost immediately his phone received a reply.

'_Send it'_

Sherlock opened his laptop and uploaded the files onto the hard drive. He saved them to an email and sent them to the number on his phone. As the files sent, Sherlock began to shake. This would be the destruction of his brother…but he couldn't regret his decision now.

'_These are files only Mycroft could have access to, and if they are leaked the blame will be solely on him- he will be labeled a traitor. There is no other way to hurt my brother than this.-SH'_

'_Good…you knew what I wanted. Ok, here is your first clue for finding Johnny boy!'_

_Image Downloading…_

Sherlock held his breath…he needed something to go on, his mind was racing in anticipation.

A picture downloaded onto the screen, and at first Sherlock had a difficult time deciphering what he was seeing.

It seemed to be an old house, long abandoned. The house was falling apart, its front white shutters falling off and the pillars holding up the story above were showing massive structural damage. It was a miracle that it was still standing. There were no discerning signs as to where the house could be located, so the clue was not much of a clue at all.

'_Good luck…'_

Sherlock almost screamed in frustration. Now what?

Suddenly his phone trilled at a new message.

_Video message downloading…_

Sherlock gripped the phone tightly, resting his arms on the table to steady his hands. When the video opened, Sherlock's jaw fell open and he almost fell out of his chair.

John appeared onscreen, alive, but badly beaten. His head was down, his chin resting on his chest. He was tied to a chair, and when he looked up Sherlock could see his battered face. One eye was swollen, and lacerations covered his face. His lip was split and a recent head wound near his temple must be making him dizzy. A voice spoke off camera, telling John to speak. John remained silent at first, but when the voice came again, commanding this time, John looked directly into the camera at Sherlock.

"Sherlock, I have been instructed to tell you that you have another task- another challenge to try to set me free. If you succeed, you will be given another clue that can aid in my release."

Sherlock realized John must be reading off of cards above the camera, and he was doing so with great difficulty. John was a former Captain, he did not take orders- he gave them.

"Moriarty is aiding a terrorist cell in planting a bomb tomorrow afternoon in one of the busiest tube stations in London. You are to place the bomb without being seen, in the correct location, at the correct time. The package with all of the instructions you need will be brought to your doorstep tomorrow morning."

John's voice was breaking, and Sherlock's heart was right behind.

"There will be hundreds of causalities, if you do your job correctly. There is only one chance to get it right. If you do not do as you are told…they will make me the bomb, and send me in to finish the job."

Sherlock's stomach dropped. Sherlock will never forget the fear he felt when he saw John strapped into that jacket. John was calm and composed, a true soldier, and Sherlock tried to appear unfazed, but he knew his fear had shown. He would never be as brave as John, but he would do anything to get John back, and if that meant planting a bomb…

Suddenly, as if hearing Sherlock's thoughts, John's eyes lit up, a fire burning behind them. He sat up straighter in his chair, pulling at his bindings and leaning towards the camera as best he could. The words flew out of him as fast as he could manage.

"Sherlock, listen to me! Do not do this! I am not worth…!"

The video cut off, but the audio remained, and right before the audio cut out, the last thing Sherlock heard was John scream.


	4. Chapter 4

As Sherlock's phone screen went dark, and the audio finally faded, Sherlock's anger began to overtake him. His hands began to shake, the phone falling to the table with a bang. His fingers fisted in his hair, pulling it in frustration. Standing up suddenly, Sherlock grabbed everything on the table and shoved it over the edge, yelling at the walls and wondering why they didn't answer him. The smile on the wall mocked him in silence.

Sherlock began to pace, his hands folded under his chin. Calming his anger for the moment, Sherlock began to think.

John needed him- soon. His wounds may not be life threatening yet, but Moriarty was as unpredictable as a wild animal. And John's scream…

The sound of it echoed in his mind and made his entire body tense in pain. Sherlock had to block it out in order to think clearly. His task was impossible. A bomb... Sherlock couldn't do this, he couldn't kill innocent life. He may claim to be a sociopath, but this was insane.

Moriarty had taken something as close to Sherlock 's life as he could- his only friend and the only person to ever fully accept Sherlock as he was. Sherlock was beginning to understand more and more about his once non-existent heart. As John was fond of telling him about his "bit not good" moments, Sherlock had begun to learn, very slowly, that people were more than logic and motive. People had emotions and meaning in their lives, and it was sometimes more important than logic. Perhaps Sherlock had just never had that meaning in his life before to be able to recognize it. All that had ever mattered to Sherlock was the work- the game and the chase and the satisfaction of seeing things no one else could. Things were changing now…the work was important, yes, but something was becoming much more important to him.

Sherlock looked over and imagined John sitting in his chair, looking at him over his paper in disapproval at one of Sherlock's many dangerous experiments. Sherlock half smiled, imagining all of the times John has looked at him that way. He missed that look. He missed the way John would begrudgingly go to the market for milk and the way he exclaimed how brilliant Sherlock was for his deductions…

He missed John. John was more important than the work would ever be.

Sherlock shook himself out of that thought stream and into a new one. He had to focus; he was running out of time.

Sherlock didn't need to think about the bomb, he knew he could never place it to detonate. Even if he did; if he did what Moriarty wanted, John would resent Sherlock for the rest of his life. John would sacrifice his life for anyone in need, and if Sherlock cost hundreds, maybe thousands their lives because of him, John would never forgive himself or Sherlock.

Sherlock had to find a way to make Moriarty think that he had planted the bomb just the way he wanted. Moriarty would have his people watching Sherlock, of course, and that would be his only chance.

Sherlock knew that Moriarty wouldn't kill John, not yet. Sherlock had to keep playing the game, and the only way he would play would be to fight for John. Moriarty would have to think Sherlock was on the end of his strings; a puppet to his bidding.

John was a strong man, but Sherlock didn't know how long he could last under the circumstances Moriarty left him in. He had to move quickly.

It was growing dark, and Sherlock knew his time was swiftly disappearing before the package would be delivered in the morning. He would only have so much time to put his plan in place before he would have to leave to the tube station. Sherlock knew he would be watched from the moment he left the flat. He couldn't contact Mycroft; he was probably consumed with doing damage control on the files Sherlock had stolen.

And what of this clue Moriarty sent to him? This old house seemed familiar, but why? Where was it? To locate one house in all of England was almost impossible with nothing else to go on. Sherlock would have to hope his plan came through tomorrow.

Sherlock spent the night in preparation. Tomorrow was going to be a tedious day indeed.

A/N- Thank you so much for reading my next chapter! I know this one was a little short, but I'm getting excited as I get further along! I hope you are still enjoying my first time in Sherlock fanfiction- in any fanfiction actually! Please, please, please leave reviews! I really would love to know your feedback. Thank you again so much! I will update again as soon as I can


	5. Chapter 5

A/N- This is a very short update, I am sorry for the delay! Life has been very busy as of late but this is just to remind you I'm still here! I will be writing more, I promise. I still hope there are some people reading and I hope you will continue to send me feedback! I cannot tell you how much it means to me! Also if anyone has any ideas or things they'd like to see in here please let me know as I would love some new views! Thank you so much

Sherlock worked through the night, planning out every detail of his plan for the coming day. He didn't know which tube station he would be sent to; there were so many in London, but he acquired layouts of them all and began to study them. Sherlock assumed that Moriarty would probably have him place the bomb in a central area rather than a specific platform in the station. He would want the most loss of life as possible. Sherlock winced slightly at the thought. He had seen what Moriarty was willing to strap to his victims by themselves- enough semtex to bring down a house, as Lestrade had phrased it. God knows what he had planned for a tube station.

The sun was beginning to rise and Sherlock realized that at any moment his doorbell would ring with a deadly delivery. Sherlock pulled back his curtain just enough to see the street below. People were milling about, getting taxis and walking to work as if it were a normal day. It was a normal day for them, at least. Those dull, predictable lives would be as normal as they ever were. They would never know what Sherlock had been working all night to prevent from happening.

Interrupting his thoughts came the fateful ring of the doorbell. Calmly walking downstairs, Sherlock opened the door. A delivery man stood in front of him with a large package, about 1 meter tall. Sherlock looked him up and down, trying to deduce anything he could about the man, but found that he seemed to be just a normal delivery employee. Sherlock realized that Moriarty must have people working for him everywhere; someone would have had to inspect this package and send it through the delivery system.

"Delivery for Mr. Sherlock Holmes," the man stated gruffly. He did not look Sherlock in the eye as he handed over a clipboard for him to sign. Sherlock observed that this man was a disgruntled employee, had been with the company for a long time but without pay or rank advance. His uniform was in one piece but not taken care of, a few threads showing at the edges of his sleeves and trouser hems. He was recently divorced, his ring missing for only a few weeks as the indent and slight tan were still visible. Perhaps she left due to lack of motivation and ambition on his part? He had two children, but she took them with her, and he was angry about that.

Sherlock took the clipboard and signed, keeping his eye on the man. Not knowing any more details about Moriarty's plan made him paranoid. Sherlock had to be prepared for anything. The man made no suspicious movement, just waited for Sherlock to finish so he could continue his deliveries.

Sherlock took the package from the man and watched as he departed down the stairs and back to his van. Glancing around as inconspicuously as he could, Sherlock looked into every possible location where he could be monitored: windows, ledges, roofs, anywhere someone could hide. Though he couldn't see them, Sherlock knew he was being watched. Seeing nothing blatant, Sherlock went back inside and shut the door, gently carrying the package upstairs. Shutting the door to his flat with his foot behind him, Sherlock walked to the table and lightly set the package down.

It was wrapped in plain brown paper, addressed to Sherlock Holmes at 221B Baker St, no return address of course. Carefully beginning to unwrap it, Sherlock came upon a simple shipping box, looking completely ordinary. He pulled back the tape and opened the box. A small suitcase was inside, and after unzipping it, Sherlock saw the danger he had been holding all along. A blinking blue light greeted Sherlock's eyes as he beheld the sight of a live explosive device, another semtex creation care of James Moriarty. A white envelope was in the mesh of the suitcase, and Sherlock slid it out and inspected it, finding nothing out of the ordinary. He opened it and began to read the message inside.

"_This bomb is live and able to be detonated at my command. Do not try to alter its signal capabilities, as I will know immediately. I have Johnny Boy on standby. You know what will happen if you do not follow my instructions. Let's begin…"_


End file.
